Rain in Paradise
by jdenholm
Summary: He liked to think it was just an errant flashback. Nothing he hadn't dealt with before. He also liked to think that he was dealing with it. But of course, he knew both of those thoughts were lies. Steve struggles to come to terms with past scars when a case drags up bad past memories, and the results threaten the safety of those around him. Danny worries. T for violence, language.
1. Chapter 1

He liked to think it was just an errant flashback. The products of too many hours on the job; a long tour always took it out of him, and sometimes the exhaustion brought back unpleasant memories, but hey. It wasn't anything he hadn't dealt with before.

He also liked to think that he was dealing with it.

But of course, he knew both of those thoughts were lies.

He'd been doing so well, too.

The first officer's death had been a shock, and he knew there were bound to be repercussions for that one. The man had been like an uncle to him, had been there when his father wasn't...

Just one more person ripped out of Steve's life by circumstances out of his control.

The universe really was out to get him.

Then the 2nd officer went down, and that had hurt even more. Why was it, that everyone around him seemed to die?

The worst part was the not knowing. The knowledge that somewhere, the sniper was preparing for his next kill, and Steve was utterly, absolutely powerless to stop him.

It was that helplessness, that uncertainty that he hated.

By the third shooting, even though it wasn't fatal, he knew the nightmares would come.

But then that last shootout-tackling Danny to the ground, drawing the fire away in the Camaro, finally seeing the bullet casing and holding it in his hand, knowing that he had been so, so close that time-that was the last straw.

His hands were shaking, he knew it, and he gripped the wheel tighter, just so no one would notice.

The vision in the street had just been the slap in the face to top it all off. Hallucinations were a sure sign he'd pushed the envelope way too much.

But that's what Steve was good at, wasn't it?

Not just pushing the envelope, but flat out blowing it up?

Maybe he shouldn't be driving. He should've just let Danny...no, dammit, he was fine! This was just a passing thing. He'd dealt with this before, he could do it again.

"Hello, Earth to Steven; hello, Steven?"

Steve snapped back into attention, Danny's hand waving in front of his face, and scowled.

"What?" He snapped, swatting the hand away. Danny frowned.

"You okay, Steve? This entire case, you've just been kind of..." Danny moved his hand in a very vague circular motion, "...out there."

"'Out there'?" Steve retorted sardonically, just because it was easier than actually answering the question. Banter had a lot less baggage than a dysfunctional ex-SEAL with repression issues and P-

"Yeah, 'out there'." Danny countered, his voice a little to soft for normalcy, like he was afraid Steve might break, "Absent. You've got this 1000-yard stare thing going on, babe, and it's a little concerning, so what's going on with you?"

"Aw, Danno, I didn't know you cared," Steve drawled back, the sarcasm in his words a lot sharper and more tangible than normal. It was the only defense he had right now.

Deflect as much as possible, don't answer the question. Because God knows if you do, you just might not shut up and then it'll all come out and everyone will know just how screwed up you really are, you-

"Steve?" Danny's expression had lost all hints of taunting, and the frown line in his forehead had gotten about five times deeper.

He looked really, really worried.

Steve swallowed convulsively.

"I'm fine," he muttered, finding his voice had gone traitorously hoarse, "I'm just tired. I need some time to think." He tried not to let the relief show on his face as he put the Camaro in park in his own driveway.

Well, his parents' driveway.

But they were gone now, too, weren't they?

Just like everything, and everyone, Steve touched.

Danny nodded his head understandingly, but that frown stayed put. Damn.

"You'll call, right?" Steve paused halfway out the driver's-side door. Danny's face was a mix of real concern and guardedness, like he thoughht Steve might respond with another snarky response.  
Nevertheless, the New Jersey detective added, "I mean, if something happens? You'll call?"

Steve wasn't sure what "something" qualified as, but it was a nice gesture. Still, he couldn't let anyone too close...

"Sure," he lied easily, shutting the door behind him, "See you."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: okay I just want to real quick thank you all for all your reviews/favorites/follows it means a lot to mean and I'm jus treally happy and exicted that you guys liked it so much! Thank you!**

**(I'll try and update frequently, but no promises: I have a lot of school)**

* * *

Something was not right.

Danny knew this almost as assuredly as he knew he was breathing. Just something in Steve's gaze, his unusual silence and irritability, it just...it nagged unpleasantly at Danny.

He didn't like it.

If the goddamn super-SEAL would just _talk_ about these things, say _anything_ about what was going on inside that thick, stubborn, slightly psychotic head of his, Danny would not have to spend so much time worrying that there was something important Steve wasn't telling him.

But Steve had said that he needed time to think, and Danny could respect that.

If the dude needed space, he needed space. Even Danny needed to decompress sometimes, and this case had hit Steve close to home.

It was fortunate that it was Friday, so if all went well, Steve would be back to his normal, infuriating, pyromaniac self by Monday.

Danny tried to ignore the part of him insisting that he was very, very wrong.

* * *

Fuck.

Steve leaned heavily against the door, ignoring how the handle dug into his back, and squeezed his eyes shut.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

He could feel his heart pounding, throbbing way too fast to be proportionate with the distance from the driveway to his front door. A walk from the Camaro to his house shouldn't have tired him like this. Which could only mean that he was a lot more stressed than he thought.

Physically, he was in Hawaii, in his parents' house, safe from most threats, but mentally...

He opened his eyes, and an image of miles and miles of desert and heat and sun flashed before his eyes, before the living room snapped back into focus.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

He needed to get his meds. _Now_. He staggered towards the stairs and stumbled up them as fast as he could. He burst into the bathroom and yanked open the cabinet over the sink.

There they were: innumerable oranges bottles of relief. Steve swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling nauseous. This was a normal thing, to be expected of someone who'd been through what he had; it wasn't a sign that he was weak, or anything. He knew that. But still, the brutal reality that those bottles brought to mind, the reminders of-

No, he needed to cut that train of thought off before it derailed his entire mind.

Man up, McGarrett. They're fucking prescription meds. You can do this.

Steve reached for the first one he could see-_Yocon 5.4 mg_, the bottle read-and unscrewed the cap, absently noticing how badly his hands were shaking.

Just pop the pills, take a nap, and it'll resolve itself. This isn't hard.

Two pills should do it, right?


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Again, thank you for all your wonderful support and reviews; they are much appreciated :)**

**Also, a note about Yocon: yes, I realize it is not a PTSD medication, but yes, it does have purpose and I do have a plan. Hold your horses, I'm getting there.**

* * *

By 10 o'clock Monday morning, Danny was very, very uneasy. His gaze kept darting to the clock, hoping that somehow, the next minute might reveal that Steve was, in fact, alive, and maybe just stuck in traffic or fixing a flat tire or cleaning his grenades or some equally-excusable reason as to why he was _three hours late_ to work.

This was Steve the SEAL, Steve the Navy officer, Steve the routine-as-hell-three-minute-shower-leader. If he was ever late, it was by ten minutes, at the absolute maximum.

Something was wrong. Danny was sure of it.

When no phone call, text, or other form of message came from Steve by noon-and really? Was it too much to ask that he just call and let someone know he was still breathing?-Danny decided to use his lunch break in the best way possible: driving (at completely legal speeds) over to Steve's house to make sure the Neanderthal hadn't fallen down the stairs and broken his neck, or something like that.

At least _Danny_ was a decent person, and extended that kind of common courtesy to other human beings.

Then again, Danny wasn't 100% sure Steve was human. He was definitely 50% SEAL, and the other 50% was probably made up of some strange amalgamation of robot, psychopath, and machine gun.

There was probably a little bit of shark in there, too.

"Steve?" Danny knocked once, twice, on the ex-SEAL's door, to no answer, "Steven? What, are you dead in there, or are you just screwing with us?"

No one answered.

Frowning, Danny reached into his pocket, fiddling around with his key chain until he found the spare key to Steve's house. He'd needed it after the whole North Korea incident, because for a couple days after the rescue Steve hadn't been really able to move, much less get out of bed and feed himself, and after that whole ordeal was over, Steve had never asked for the key back.

Besides, the house was basically half-Danny's already. He'd lived there for about 3 months of his life, so that gave him partial ownership, right?

"Steve?" The house was dead-silent, and as Danny pushed the front door shut behind him, he unholstered his gun.

Just a precaution.

The kitchen, living room, and study were all empty, though they too showed signs that something was amiss: dirty dishes piled in the sink, pillows scattered on the floor. Three months of living with the guy had taught Danny Steve-language, and right now everything about the house was screaming _WRONG_.

"Steve, are you home? Answer me."

Wait, was that a sound?

Cautiously, gun raised, Danny moved towards and up the stairs.

Then sighed and holstered his weapon when he recognized a distinctly Steve-sized mass of blankets through the open bedroom door at the end of the hall.

Maybe Steve was sick. Maybe he'd just forgotten to set his alarm and decided to take another day of weekend.

Either way, Danny was ready to shoot him.

Maybe he shouldn't have put his gun away.

"Steve?" Danny paused at the threshold to the master bedroom, debating whether it was worth it to try and wake an evidently-exhausted-6-foot-2-Navy-SEAL. "Steven."

"Gwehdnn."

Danny shook his head. "I'm sorry, would you like to try that again?"

The Steve-sized blanket monster shifted, groaning. "Go 'way, D'nny."

Ahh, that was better.

"What, are you sick or something?"

"Or something," Steve mumbled from somewhere amid the bedclothes.

Danny snorted. "I thought you Army guys didn't get sick. Is that against the rules?"

There was a long pause in which Danny thought Steve might have fallen asleep—and wow, _rude_—before Steve muttered, "What?"

"You're supposed to say 'It's the Navy,' or something." Danny frowned. Steve was usually quicker on the uptake, and it wasn't like that was an unusual jibe. And the way Steve was slurring, so different from his normal speech…"Are you feeling alright, Steve?"

"'m fine," the other man grumbled, slightly muffled by blankets, "be back t'm'rr'w."

"What is it like a 24-hour flu thing?" Danny walked a couple steps into the room, approaching the bed, "because if it is then by all means stay home; we don't need your germs floating—"

"Stay back!" All of a sudden, Steve was upright in bed, hand upraised in warning, his glazed-over eyes wide and locked on Danny. He looked like absolute hell.

Danny froze, bringing his hands up in a placating gesture. "Okay, relax, I won't come any closer. Geez, if you were contagious, why didn't you say so?"

Steve just grunted miserably, his face communicating that his stomach had decided that sitting up quickly was a very, very bad idea. He flopped back down on the bed, limbs bouncing lifelessly off the mattress, as Danny stepped back a bit.

"Okay, well then I guess I'll leave you to it. That is, whatever you're doing, lying there swamped in blankets. Have fun, or whatever." He took a few more steps towards the door before he remembered something.

"I told you to call me if something happened, you big ape. Why didn't you tell me you were going to be sick?"

Steve let out a great whoosh of air. "Phon's d'wnstr's," he murmured, sounding like he was rapidly approaching the other side of consciousness.

Danny sighed, went downstairs, and brought the cell phone back up, but by the time he returned to Steve's room, the ex-SEAL was already asleep. "Lazy," Danny muttered, placing the phone on the dresser and briefly taking note of the orange bottle on the table's surface.

"The one weekend we get off, you _would_ get sick…"


	4. Chapter 4

Fuck, he was dizzy.

Sitting up so suddenly had _not_ been a wise choice.

But at least Danny was gone now, so Steve could wallow in his own suffering and not move for the next six hours.

He was pretty sure he'd never reacted to a medication like this before. Sure, starting a new med always made him a little nauseous, or gave him a bit of a headache, or made him a little tired, but he'd never been knocked out like this.

His skin was unbearably warm and his head felt like someone had lodged a railroad stake somewhere in between his ears, and every little motion cause pain to spike through his skull, leaving an unpleasant ache behind. And yet, his entire body felt twitchy, like he was a live wire, though he wasn't quite sure where his feet were at the moment.

Was it Monday, or Tuesday? No, it had to be a weekend, or else he'd be at work right now.

Hm, work.

Had Danny been here earlier? Steve was almost positive he had been, but then again...

Was that a spider on the wall? Steve squinted. The room kept swimming in and out of focus, and it was making things very difficult. "Stop that," he muttered indignantly.

The room sharpened momentarily, and it was long enough for Steve to recognize that the shadow on the wall was not, in fact, a spider, but a reflection of the sun off his phone screen, which was lying on the bedside table right next to his—

_It is 104 degrees, the sun blazing high in the sky, and Steve's BDU is way too hot; he's sweating so much that his grip on the gun in his hands slips, the barrel of the AK-47 sliding sluggishly out of his slick fingers—_

—gun.

Fuck.

Why isn't this medication doing what it's supposed to? It's just making things _worse, _not better.

Maybe he wasn't taking enough.

With a herculean effort, Steve rolled himself over—trying desperately to ignore how his whole body protested the movement—and scrabbled for the pill bottle he knew was on the bedside table. After two botched attempts, he managed to get the orange vial between his fingers and screw the cap off. He'd taken two before, but maybe he needed more?

Dammit, could his hands stop quivering enough for him to get the pills out? Would that be too much to ask?

With difficulty, Steve managed to shake out three white, round pills into his trembling palm. He shoved them into his mouth, dry-swallowing, before laying on his back, squinting up at the pill bottle he held between his thumb and forefinger.

Was it even his name on this bottle? Because it might have been just his rapidly blurring vision, or the uncontrollable tremors in his hand, but last time he checked, he was pretty sure his name wasn't that long...

Whatever. It was probably just him.

Besides, the bottle said 5.4 mg, and Steve was pretty sure he'd learned in SEAL training that 15 mg was an acceptable dose of—

_It's still sweltering—and why the hell is it so fucking _hot _in the desert?—but at the moment Steve is chilled to the bone, because a member of his team—and it could be York, or Ogata, judging from rough size alone, though it's hard to tell at the moment—is on the ground writhing in pain, and there's blood gushing from his leg—or where his leg would be; Steve can see the wound clearly enough to make out the mangled remains of body fat, tendons, and arteries—and spurting out all over the sand floor, intermingling with the dust to flow sluggishly outward. Steve's ears are ringing, his equilibrium feels off—was there an explosion? It feels like there might have been—but he staggers somewhat upright—ignoring the flaring pain in his gut and shoulder, and throbbing of his head (is that blood dripping down into his eye?)— and scrambles over to York—he can tell, now that he's close enough to see his face, see the 20 year-old's expression twisted in agony and abject terror and that agedness that only men who've brushed too close with death can have, and dammit, York's his E5— pushing York's bloody hands away to assess the damage...there's a tourniquet—he thinks he might have torn something to make it, but he can't remember what—because curse these IEDs, he's already had to use up his supply. Someone's shouting, there's a small cloud of desert soil that's flung into the air as someone skids up alongside Steve, and fuck, his heart is pounding so fast he might code, and it's so damn cold and someone's screaming for morphine—_

Steve barely made it to the bathroom before he was violently ill, and the cold tile of the floor was the last thing he remembered before blackness overtook him.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: You guys are too good to me! Seriously, all the reviews and favorites...ahh, you guys just make me really happy :)**

* * *

Tuesday was surprisingly, suspiciously, normal.

Steve walked—stumbled, more like; he'd muttered something about a headache, and squinted at Danny like his vision had suddenly gone south—into the office at around 7:05, trudged into his office, and shut the door with finality, starting off an entire shift of paperwork.

It was a weirdly uneventful tour of duty.

Not that Danny was complaining, or anything. He had Grace next weekend, and he was hoping to make it to Saturday bullet-free, thank you. The whole not-jumping-in-front-of-cars-or-blowing-things-up deal was nice, but again, it was...unusual. Almost unsettling.

Steve especially. The ex-SEAL, who'd come to work sporting a spectacularly yellowish-purple bruise over his left eye, had been quiet all day, and hadn't once emerged from his office, not even for lunch.

His silence worried Chin and Kono, too, though, like Danny, neither of them were very willing to approach Steve on the subject. Their leader had made it perfectly clear that he did not want to be disturbed, and Danny was doing his best to avoid a confrontation.

But for God's sake, something needed to be said. Steve's attitude was making them _all _cranky. Evidently, something was up with Steve, and Danny wanted answers; no more of this stoic-I-can-handle-it-Navy-SEAL crap. If whatever was wrong Friday was still affecting Steve, then Danny needed to know.

They were a team, they were _ohana_. Family worked out their problems _together_.

Of course, leave it to Steve to read Danny like a book, guess his intentions, and go home before Danny could notice.

What the actual fuck.

Danny made a point of communicating his irritation in a not so passive-aggressive voicemail. Because of course, Steve wasn't answering his phone.

"Okay, Steve, what the hell. No seriously, what the hell. You've been weird all week; you're sick yesterday, then you waltz into the office like nothing's wrong, and then leave before any of us can call you out on it. What, are you avoiding us now? Is this going to be a thing? Let's have a problem, but just ignore 'til it goes away? Oh yeah, that sounds like a good plan.

"...look, Steve, I'm your partner, and me, Kono, and Chin, we're your team, but more than that: we're your family. If you think we can't tell something's up with you, then you're wrong. I'm just...I'm really worried about you, man. You gotta tell me what's going on. So, call or something. Just...let me help you, okay? I guess I'll see you tomorrow. Don't do anything stupid."

Then, to double-check, Danny swung by Steve's house, but the lights were off and the house was deserted. Typical Steve-like avoidance, he knew all the places his partner would look for him.

Danny tried to calm his mind a little on the drive home, but it wasn't much use. Okay, yes, he'd been kind of concerned about Steve on Friday. And he'd been pretty concerned Monday. But now he was reaching a new state of worry, and Steve's escapism wasn't exactly helping.

He'd tried to give his partner space, because Danny knew that, for as much as he reassured Steve that he and the cousins were there for him, the ex-SEAL preferred to sort out his problems inside his own head. And he'd tried to respect that, tried to respect Steve's need for reflection and independence.

It wasn't like McGarrett was incapable of taking care of himself. Steve was an adult, he could handle most things.

But not this, this...whatever it was.

Tomorrow; tomorrow he would sort things out.

* * *

**Sorry for the shortish chapter; the next one's already in the works!**

**Reviews make me update faster ;)**


	6. Chapter 6

Oh, but it was not as easy as it sounded.

Steve came into the office Wednesday in a _foul_ mood. Danny could almost physically see the little cloud of doom hanging over their leader's head.

Danny braced himself before entering Steve's office. Bad mood or no, Danny was tired of Steve's lack of answers. He needed explanations and reasons.

"Did you even _get_ my voicemail?" And yeah, it probably wasn't the best way to start off this conversation, but the ugly mix of guilt, frustration, and worry swirling in Danny's gut hadn't exactly put him in a bright set of mind either.

Steve scowled, and it was a little intimidating, the way his whole face darkened. "Yes," he growled, swiveling his chair away from Danny and absently shuffling through some completed case-files.

He wasn't getting off that easily.

"Then did you maybe think it was a good idea to call back? Extend a common courtesy towards your fellow man and tell me what-the-ever-loving-fuck has been up with you lately?"

If at all possible, Steve's glower deepened. "It's nothing, Danny."

"Bullshit." Steve looked almost surprised at that.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, 'bullshit,' Steven, because you and I both know that is the biggest lie I've ever heard. Something is wrong with you, and I am not leaving this office until you tell me what it is."

"I don't have to tell you." Steve got up and started striding purposefully towards the door, only to be blocked by the shorter detective, who placed himself firmly in the way.

"Yes, McGarrett, I think you do."

"Danny." Steve's voice was low and dangerous, and Jesus Christ, did they teach people how to be scary in SEAL-school? "Move."

The Jersey detective swallowed thickly—and no, it wasn't like he found Steve's Navy-death-stare-of-doom frightening or anything, even though the other man's eyes were glassy and strangely bloodshot—but didn't budge. "No."

"_Danny_." Steve's voice was openly threatening at this point.

And that was wrong, too: never in their partnership had Steve ever made a threat to any member of the team, especially Danny.

This...this was too far.

"No, Steve," Danny answered quietly, staring into the other's eyes, "_what's wrong_?"

The ex-SEAL pondered Danny for a long time, looking like he was very much considering physically removing his partner from his path, before making an exasperated noise in the back of his throat and slouching back to his chair. He ran into the corner of the desk en route, something that did not go unnoticed.

"Steve," Danny kept his voice low and even, though his insides were frantic with concern and distress, "talk to me, babe. I just want to help you."

Steve was quiet for a long time, avoiding Danny's gaze. When he finally spoke, his words were hushed and dejected. "I don't think there's anything you can do, Danno."

"Why don't you let me decide that, huh? Come on, Steve, I don't like seeing you like this. None of us do."

Steve nodded sadly, and Danny internally sighed in relief. Finally, they were getting somewhere.

Except that right then, at the worst possible moment, Kono chose to interrupt.

"Hey guys," At least she looked sincerely apologetic, but Danny was desperately trying to keep his frustrated screaming internal, "I'm sorry, I know I'm interrupting, but we just caught a case. Top priority, Governor's orders."

Danny turned back to Steve, but whatever openness or readability had been in the ex-SEAL's expression, it was gone now: Steve's face was already set in focus.

"We'll finish this discussion later," Danny told him, pointing a finger for emphasis, "Don't think you're getting out of it that easily."

Steve scowled, but didn't reply.

* * *

Thank God for Kono. Steve didn't think he'd ever been more grateful to see the rookie in his life as when she appeared at his office door, informing them of a new case.

It had been the out Steve had so desperately needed, because Danny was persistent, and Steve knew the cracks were starting to show.

Can't let them know, can't let them too close.

It felt like he was playing hide-and-seek with his _ohana_, and he hated it, but it was necessary: Steve wasn't operating at his best, and until he could get his shit together, the others needed to stay ignorant and safe.

Maybe that was why he let Danny drive to the scene. The Jersey cop had given him the strangest, most concerned look Steve had ever seen, but Steve's head was spinning and his vision kept blurring, and the driver's seat was not where he needed to be.

That damn headache was back, throbbing dully at the base of his skull, and his hands had started trembling again.

He'd quit the Yocon the day after he'd woken up on the bathroom floor, a foul taste in his mouth and a bruise on the side of his head, and that had helped a little, but damn, those flashbacks.

No matter what he did, they just kept hitting him, over and over again. Even the Zoloft he'd taken this morning—and the second dose he'd snuck in right before they'd left headquarters, when no one was looking—wasn't doing anything to help. It was like trying to outrun your shadow: no matter how fast you ran, your shadow was still there, and you just got more and more exhausted.

That's what Steve was. Exhausted. Tired of the nightmares, tired of the flashbacks, tired of looking over his shoulder, tired of lying to people he cared about.

He was just so, so tired.

They pulled up at the scene—Steve vaguely remembered Kono saying something about _drug dealers_ and _hostage situation_, but he couldn't recall much else; and when had he put on a tac vest?—and he shot out of the car, weapon in hand.

There was shouting—hey, HPD was here too—and then suddenly there was semiautomatic gunfire.

_It is 104 degrees._

Steve was aware of his vision tunneling, his own voice rising above the din, and then he knew nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

Pain.

Steve didn't know where he was, or how he'd gotten there, but the one thing he was very sure of was the fiery pain that seemed to have engulfed his shoulder, throat, and abdomen. This was _not_ the best way to wake up in the morning.

Wait. Morning?

...What day was it?

He cracked opened his eyes a bit, then instantly shot awake as he realized he was not, in fact, at home, or anywhere he recognized. Everything was white, and the sun was too low in the sky, and there were people he'd never seen and—

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, calm down, Super-SEAL."

And there was Danny, seated by his bed with a calculating look on his face. "You're in the hospital, Steve," the detective added seriously, watching Steve's face, "but unfortunately for me, I'll have to endure you and your psychosis for a while longer, because the doctors say you're going to live."

There were so many things wrong with this situation, and Steve blinked rapidly in an effort to absorb everything. He was in the hospital. He was okay. Danny was here. It was safe.

Steve's heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.

"Steve, babe, look at me." Danny's face was a mask of earnest concern, "Breathe, okay? You're fine. We're all fine."

But no, that wasn't right, Steve was sure of it. Danny's voice was uncommonly hoarse. And where were the others? How had he gotten here? What happened?

God, his head hurt.

"What—" he started to ask, reaching up to run a hand down his face, and abruptly stopped, because his arm wouldn't go any higher.

"_What the hell_?"

* * *

Shit, Danny had not been looking forward to this conversation.

He'd been kind of hoping to avoid it, kind of hoping that Steve would just settle back down into sleep, like he had all the previous times he'd awoken.

Because this coming discussion? If Steve had been in a funk _before_ this whole ordeal, then this was just going to bring him to a whole new level of terrible.

"What do you remember, Steve?" Danny asked, ignoring the unpleasant burn in his throat as he spoke and focusing instead on Steve's face.

The ex-SEAL's expression was one of horror, though he'd finally managed to tear his gaze from the handcuffs securing his left hand to the bed rail. "Danny," Steve croaked, anxiously searching his partner's face, "why am I...? What happened?"

"Okay, then I'll take it you don't remember much of anything," Danny sighed, absently rubbing his throat. Steve caught the motion, though, and if possible, his eyes widened.

"Your neck..." Steve's gaze suddenly sharpened, his tone becoming demanding, "Danny, what happened to you? Who did that?"

The Jersey detective could see the anger and blood-lust brewing in Steve's eyes and oh yeah, this was not going to be a fun conversation. How was Danny supposed to explain to Steve that it was—

He was getting ahead of himself. Stupid super-SEAL, he always seemed to have this infuriating ability to derail Danny. This needed to be taken one step at a time.

"I'll ask again: what do you remember?"

"Danny—"

"Goddammit, Steve, would you just answer the question?"

_Cowed_ was the only way to describe Steve's expression. The ex-SEAL swallowed, nodded hesitantly, and leaned back, resting against the pillows. He closed his eyes in thought; several minutes passed, and Danny thought momentarily that Steve might have actually fallen asleep, before the commander's eyes snapped open, and he blurted, "Case!"

"Alright, good," Danny replied, nodding, but couldn't help adding sardonically, "I'm pretty sure you didn't injure your head, though, so let's see if we can graduate to full sentences."

Steve shot him a glare that, even coming from a hospital bed, was admittedly pretty intimidating. "We got a case," Steve went on, scrunching up his face in concentration, "something about drug dealers and hostages." Danny nodded, and Steve continued.

"It was a wharf set-up...there was gunfire..." Danny saw something unrecognizable flash across Steve's eyes, but then it was gone, "...and then...then..."

Steve squinted, frowning like he was putting a supreme effort into sorting out his thoughts, then sighed, sinking defeatedly into the hospital bed. "I can't remember anymore. I'm sorry."

Danny simply hummed in affirmation. "I wasn't sure if you'd remember that much, honestly," he admitted, "you were, ah, pretty out of it."

Steve's gaze snapped over to Danny sharply, a silent order for explanation. Danny exhaled heavily, settling into his chair for what he knew was going to be a long, unpleasant talk.

* * *

**Woo, one day, three updates! I am on a roll! :D**

**Btw, apologies to the more sensitive of you for the language. Deal with it.**


	8. Chapter 8

Danny took a deep breath before starting, and Steve's heart doubled in pace.

"We showed up at the scene after HPD, and I don't know exactly what happened, but some words were exchanged and apparently our drug dealers were more than a little unwilling to go quietly. There were some shots exchanged, and we decided to raid the building."

Danny ran a hand through his hair.

"There are some details I'm missing, and only you can fill them in, babe, 'cause God knows if I can tell what goes on in that cracked head of yours sometimes, but I can tell you what I know.

"HPD drew the perps' fire away while the four of us skirted around to the back. Chin and Kono took one side; we had the other. I don't know, Steve, you were...you were weird. You kept making these hand signals, and calling me 'Worobi,' and...I don't know how to describe it. It was like I was talking to you, and you just...you were somewhere else."

Steve's gaze had dropped, and he was staring resolutely out the window in the other direction.

"But we took down the guys, and no one got hurt, and HPD took over the scene and freed the hostages, but you...like I said, Steve, you were somewhere else. I've never seen you like that before, babe. You kept saying something about how the 'target' hadn't been 'eliminated,' and about 'the mission,' and some other stuff I'll probably never understand."

Steve's hand—his left, the one not in a sling—was clenched unbearably tightly in the sheets, and Danny reached over and laid his hand atop it. Steve didn't pull away, and as Danny continued, he felt his partner relax into the contact.

"You wouldn't put down your gun, either. And then Chin tried to take it from you, and you," Danny licked his lips nervously, "...you went crazy. You aimed at him, and kept screaming something about a 'breach in the ranks,' and when Kono tried to stop you..."

When Danny was quiet for longer than usual, Steve spoke, voice rough and broken. "What did I do to her, Danny? Tell me what I did."

"Christ, you dislocated her shoulder, Steve."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, sudden nausea rolling over him. He'd hurt Kono, he'd hurt his team, but more than that: he's hurt his family. He had acted in violence towards his _ohana_, and for that...Steve wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive himself.

He wasn't sure when his ears started ringing, but when buzzing receded, Danny was speaking again.

"Chin managed to get your gun, but you were...you were scary, babe. You were really, really scary."

It was some time before Steve found his voice again.

"So the...your throat, was that...did I...?"

Danny just nodded.

And holy fuck, the world might've well stopped spinning.

"Shit," Steve gasped out, and his arms—his whole body—was trembling, "shit. Danny, I...I...fuck. _Fuck_."

"Steve," Danny's voice had taken on something akin to alarm, and suddenly he was in Steve's face, his arms grabbing the ex-SEAL tightly, grounding him, "Steve, listen to me: breathe, okay? Breathe. Come on, man, you're scaring me. _Breathe_, Steve, _breathe_."

Steve managed to a gasping inhale, then a shaky exhale. "That's it, that's it. Just breathe."

When it finally felt like he wasn't about to drown or strangle himself with his IV, Steve rasped, "I'm sorry, Danny. Fuck, I'm so, so, sorry."

"Hey," Danny reprimanded, leaning back and sitting again, "don't be. Like I said, you were somewhere else; I'm not going to blame you for your actions if you couldn't control them." A pause. "Which, actually, brings us to our next conversation."

Steve shifted uncomfortably. He knew what was coming, and while, yeah, this was probably overdue, it would be a lot more convenient for him to have a medical crisis, or something, right now.

Damn.

If Danny saw the look on his face, though, he steadfastly ignored it. "You need to tell me what's going on Steve," Danny looked at him seriously, but somehow Steve couldn't bring himself to meet his partner's gaze, "and no more of this 'it's nothing' bullshit. I want answers. So you need to tell me what's up with you right now," something sad but threatening flashed in Danny's eyes, "or I quit. Because if you can be honest about your problems with us, and innocent lives are being put in danger because of it, then I can't just sit by. I don't need it, and frankly, Steve, I don't really enjoy watching you fall apart in front of me. So come on, out with it. What's going on?"

Steve was quiet for a long, long time, but when he finally looked up, Danny was shocked and disturbed to see tears glistening in the corners of the ex-SEAL's eyes.

"Okay, Danny," he whispered, nodding, "Okay."


	9. Chapter 9

"When I was...overseas, on my tour of duty, I, uh...I saw a lot of stuff. I'm sorry I can't really give you more than that, but a lot of those missions are still classified. But...yeah. We were in a hot zone, and guys—" A thick swallow, "guys would lose arms and legs every week. It was just...just part of the job, you know? And those guys...those were the lucky ones. Danny, I saw stuff I can't even..."

Steve couldn't finish, and instead struggled with words for a long moment before he managed to continue.

"When I got back, I...I was ordered to see a Navy shrink. You know, someone with the proper clearance, to talk about the stuff I'd seen and done. She, uh,"

And dammit, this was the hard part.

"She diagnosed me with pretty severe PTSD, Danny. I mean, there were days were I couldn't even eat, because the hallucinations would get so bad. I was pretty screwed up, back then.

"It got better with time, though. I had meds to help me through the rough times, but for the most part, I just moved on...tried to find a purpose in life, you know? Something to distract myself from...what I've seen.

"The job sometimes makes it worse, but the nightmares...they're pretty much gone now. As strange as it sounds, it's actually helped a little. Easing me back into civilian life. I get to focus on saving lives, instead of..."

Steve didn't need to finish the sentence, Danny knew how it ended; mentally the Jersey detective made a note to never tease Steve about being a killing machine again, because the reality was...he really was. Had been.

"But this last case, man," Steve shook his head sadly, "this last case, I don't know what it was...the case with the sniper and those officers? It just...it triggered something. I...I tried to take something for it, but I don't know...it just made it worse. I tried everything, Danny, but it just...I don't know. And this case with the drug dealers, the gunfire...it was like I wasn't even me. I can't remember anything; sometimes the memories just take over, and..."

Danny waited out the silence, knowing Steve would finish. The ex-SEAL managed wobbly smile.

"Worobi was the name of my second-in-command. He was, uh...he was a good kid. Graduated top of his class, hailing from Atlanta, Georgia."

Steve's face dropped.

"He didn't make it; two weeks into our last deployment his patrol squad hit an IED. The others made it, but Worobi, his skull was just..."

Steve shook his head, and Danny squeezed his hand, both as a grounding gesture and as what little comfort he felt he could offer.

"It screwed me up for a long time," he croaked, "I mean, you see people dying all around you everyday, but you just...you never quite get over it."

"That's what makes us human, Steve," Danny murmured, meeting the other's gaze, "it means you're still alive inside."

Steve nodded numbly. "I, uh, I don't know what happened, Danny," he admitted, "at the wharf. I'm not sure what I was seeing or why I...did what I did. But I'm sorry, and if...if you don't feel safe with me leading the team, I...I completely understand. In fact, I'll hand in my letter of resig—"

"No."

"Danny—"

"No, Steven, and that's final. We are your team, and we are your ohana, and we will do whatever it takes to get you through this, but we will get through it together, because that's what family does."

Steve was not tearing up. He wasn't. "Thanks, brother," he whispered, not trusting himself to say much more.

* * *

They sat in comfortable silence for a time before Steve spoke up again. "What did...how did I get here?"

Danny shifted uncomfortably. Might as well get it over with.

"Chin shot you," he stated bluntly, as shock registered on Steve's face, "because you had me pinned against the wall with your hand on my throat, and you weren't hearing any of us. It was the only thing he could think to do. Don't worry though, it's a pretty low-impact wound. Chin had spot-on aim; he didn't nick any arteries or break anything, but it'll still take a while for the muscle to heal."

Steve nodded. He'd been shot before; he was pretty familiar with GSW treatment and therapy.

"The rest of you was the trickier part. They had to pump your stomach, Steve," Danny looked at his partner frankly, "because you had a pretty high content of happiness swirling around in there."

"I'm sorry," Steve mumbled again, "I...wasn't exactly thinking straight."

"No, you weren't," Danny agreed, "but Jesus Christ, babe, what on earth did you take?"

Steve shifted uncomfortably. "Zoloft," he answered sheepishly, "and...Yocon, or something like that."

Of all the reactions Steve was expecting, breaking into sudden laughter was not one of them. "What?" He demanded defensively, trying not to be too offended.

"No, no," Danny held up a placating hand, chuckles subsiding, "I'm not laughing at you. Okay, well, maybe I am. But you are really dense sometimes, Super-SEAL."

Steve wrinkled his head in confusion, but Danny offered no explanation, rising from his seat instead and making like he was about to leave. "Wait, Danny, what do you mean?"

The Jersey detective just shot Steve a highly amused smirk. "Relax, Steve, I'll explain. But first, I need food and a shower, because I have been sitting here with your sorry ass for about six hours. I'll be back, and I'll see if I can bring Chin and Kono along."

Seeing how Steve's face dropped at the latter name, all traces of amusement fled Danny's expression. "She's not mad at you, you know. More worried, than anything. We all were."

Steve just nodded. "Sure. See you, Danny."

* * *

**Okay, I JUST FINISHED THIS STORY.**

**So it's up to you guys-idk, I did a coin toss but I feel better getting your feedback-do you want me to post the rest of it now, or keep you in suspense?**


	10. Chapter 10

Steve was asleep when Danny finally returned, the cousins in tow.

"Aww, he's so cute," Kono cooed, wincing a little when he injured shoulder bumped into the doorframe, "he looks so peaceful."

"See if you still feel that way when he wakes up swinging," Chin commented seriously; he and Danny had had to physically restrain Steve before the paramedics could inject a sedative, when the he was still battle-crazed and not in full possession of his faculties. And needless to say, grappling with a full-trained Navy SEAL when he wasn't in his right mind was not exactly a walk in the park. Chin had the bruises to prove it.

Steve shifted, his head lolling to one side and his fist tightening in the bedclothes, and his eyes cracked open.

"Hey, babe," Danny murmured, more than a little relieved to see that their fearless leader was still clear-eyed and coherent, "how are you feeling?"

Steve grunted something unintelligible, then mumbled, "'m fine."

"Steven," Danny warned, "you said that for the entirety of this week's beginning, and we all know how that turned out. Honesty."

Steve glared, but amended, "I'm tired, I'm sore, and I'm getting a headache from all my partner's talking."

Danny just grinned triumphantly. "Well, lucky for you your skull's so thick."

"Lucky for you—"

"Okay, girls," Chin interrupted, smirking, "stop."

Steve seemed to take notice of the other two presences in the room for the first time. "Chin," he greeted, "Kono."

"Hey, boss-man," Kono grinned, careful to avoid jostling her sling-swathed arm as she leaned forward, "it's good to see you back."

"Agreed," Chin added, "we were really worried about you, brah."

"I'm sorry," Steve apologized, without preamble. Chin and Kono both blinked in surprise.

"Nothing to apologize for, boss-man," Kono reassured him, waving a hand noncommittally, "we forgive you."

Steve's eyes were impossibly wide. "Just like that?" He asked weakly. Kono and Chin nodded the affirmative. "Just like that," she repeated.

Steve continued to stare. "I don't understand," he finally sputtered, "I almost—"

"Steve," Danny groaned, dropping his head onto the bed in frustration, "what did I tell you about that, huh? We're family, babe. This is what families do."

The ex-SEAL just continued to stare, a sort of mystified look on his face and oh, Danny would have to think of a name for that expression later. "In other news," he remarked, trying to fill the silence, "I figured out why those meds weren't working for you, Steve."

That got his attention. "What?" Steve's gaze snapped over to his partner, who held up an orange pill bottle and rattled it slightly, "Why?"

"Because it's not even your name on the bottle, moron." Steve snatched the bottle from Danny—as gingerly and carefully as he could, because Chin may have shot him in a strategic spot, but it still hurt like a bitch when he jostled his shoulder—and squinted at the type.

Sure enough. Hadn't it looked funny to him earlier, too?

Danny shook his head in exasperation. "I talked to the pharmacy, and they said there was a mix-up, but for Christ's sake, Steven: do you not even read the bottles?"

"I just try not to think about them, Danny," Steve answered quietly, and wow, that shut everyone up. Except now the hospital room was soberly, uncomfortably quiet. Damn.

"Anyway," he spoke up, "when can I get out of here?" Danny grinned knowingly. "I knew that was coming," the detective countered, "and no, Steve, it's not today." The Five-0 leader grumbled discontentedly, letting his head fall back to the bed.

"But," Danny held up a finger for emphasis, "if you play nice with the kind nurses, complete a successful psych evaluation—" and Steve cringed at that, "—and don't get your wound infected in the next 24 hours, the doctor says you can leave anytime."

Steve let out a whoosh of relieved air. 24 hours. He could handle that. First, though, he needed to do something about that evaluation.

"Danny, can I borrow your phone?"

His partner eyed him warily. "And just who are you planning on calling?"

"The Governor," Steve answered without hesitation, silently begging Danny to let him do this, but of course—

"Absolutely not," Danny huffed in between Chin and Kono—who'd been sitting in amused silence for the whole time—bidding the two of them goodbye and heading home, "I am familiar with all your sneaky ways, Steven, and you aren't getting out of this one." A pause. "Babe, as much as I tease you about going by the book, I think this time you really need to go through with this. Talking to someone about this will be good for you."

"Danny." Steve's voice was pleading, and far too meek for Danny's liking, "Please. I've been through this before, I know how it goes, and this...it's not going to help. Please, just...if I have to talk to anyone, I'd rather have it be you."

* * *

There was a long, meaningful silence, before Danny sighed, slipping his phone out of his pocket and placing it on the covers. "Fine. But no asking for shorter leave, or trying to bargain. You, my friend, are under strict orders for rest, and, as your partner, I will be staying with you to make sure to get it," Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Danny cut him off, "No arguments. I'll give you five minutes."

He turned to leave when Steve spoke again.

"Danny? One last thing."

"What is it now, Steven?

"Can you un-cuff me? I kind need hands...for the phone?"

* * *

**You guys asked for the rest, don't look at me! It was a unanimous vote!**


	11. Chapter 11

"I still have no idea how you manage to get out of these things," Danny shook his head, piloting the Camaro out of the hospital parking lot, "you and your Army wiles, I swear..."

"Navy, Danny," Steve murmured, eyes closed and head resting against the car window, "It's the Navy."

Danny cast a sidelong glance at his passenger. "You feeling okay, babe?"

"Just tired," Steve mumbled in reply, grimacing as the car hit a particularly bumpy pothole, "this is why I hate pain meds."

"Yeah, well, it was either you leave the hospital on a prescription, or you stay there on the good stuff," Danny countered, trying to go over a speed bump as slow as legally possible to avoid jostling Steve's injuries too much, "you made your choice."

Steve just grunted in reply.

"You think you're going to be okay for the next couple nights?" Danny asked after a period of time, "I mean, I don't know how well your other meds are going to mix with the pain pills; we probably should've asked—"

"I'll be fine, Danny," Steve muttered, straightening up in his seat and opening his eyes blearily, "I've taken Zoloft with some other stuff before, and it was fine."

Another pause. "So, about that..."

A sigh. "What do you want this time?"

"Don't you give me sass, McGarrett, I'm taking care of your dopey ass for the next couple weeks, and that means I have complete control over whether or not poisonous chemicals pass into your system at any point therein."

Steve shifted uncomfortably.

"Anyway, as I was saying...I looked up your meds a little earlier, while you were still passed out. And Zoloft, Steve, that's, ah..." Danny ran a hand through his hair, "...that's some pretty serious stuff. I mean, they don't prescribe antidepressants for just anything.

"...I guess what I'm trying to ask is, uh...I mean, I read the conditions and side effects, and I just need to know...you've never thought about...it?"

Sometimes, despite his expansive vocabulary, Danny Williams tended to make the most vague, under-expressive statements Steve had ever heard. "...would you like to clarify what 'it' you might be speaking of?"

Danny made a face.

After a moment's internal struggle, he managed to find the words.

"Suicide."

And, oh.

Oh.

Steve swallowed thickly. Danny saw his hesitation, and as he parked the Camaro in front of the McGarrett house murmured, "The truth, Steve."

Damn Danny and his sensitive conversation topics. Were they ever going to get back to their usual banter? Then again, Steve pretty much had brought this on himself—on all of them—so he supposed he owed Danny this much.

"Yes," he croaked after a length of time, "once or twice."

Catching his partner's alarmed look, Steve quickly added, "but it's been a long time, Danny. We're talking years."

Danny seemed more satisfied with that, but the look in his eyes told Steve that he was expecting a longer explanation.

The ex-SEAL sighed. "Can we go inside, first? No offense, but your car isn't exactly the most comfortable place to sit and talk about our feelings, especially since I know how bitchy you are about these things."

Danny stuck out his tongue, but proceeded to get out of the car, slamming the door a little harder than necessary.

* * *

When the two of them finally got Steve inside and settled on the couch, with Danny seated in the armchair, watching him intently, the Navy commander continued his story.

"Like I said before, my time in the service...it screwed me up pretty good. There were a couple times, when it was really bad, I thought about...ending it.

"But, uh, I had…people, then. Joe, Cath, they were there. It…helped. You know, with the nightmares, and stuff. And eventually, life just…sort of moved on. I got better, found other things to occupy my mind…you know, I'd never really thought about it until you brought it up, but…yeah, it's…it's been a while, though, so…don't worry. I'm not going anywhere."

Danny sat there watching him for a while, then nodded. "You better not be. Because heaven knows what I'd do with myself on this God-forsaken rock if you decided to take a permanent vacation. So don't even think about it."

Steve gave a wan smile. "Sorry, I'm here to stay."

Danny scrubbed a hand down his face. "Good." There was another pause before Danny started chuckling. Steve raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? What's so funny?"

"You," Danny grinned, "you and your crazy ways. I still can't believe you took those meds without even looking at the bottle."

Steve huffed, crossing his arms defensively as best he could in a sling. "You didn't find it that amusing when I had my stomach pumped."

That sobered Danny a little, but he was still leering victoriously. "No, I didn't really enjoy that, so much." Danny's smile widened. "But you, my friend, would OD on the one drug that I happen to know about."

The Jersey detective started snickering again, a mischievous glint in his eyes. And Steve didn't like it one bit.

"My uncle used to take Yocon," Danny chortled, "and…do you even know what it's for, Steve?"

The ex-SEAL shook his head slowly, more than a little nervous. At that, Danny started laughing even harder.

"Oh man, you don't even…I can't believe…eheeheehee." Danny got up and started to walk away, making towards the kitchen. Steve struggled to sit upright.

"Hey, Danny, where are you—Danny, tell me!"

Who knew Navy SEALs could be so whiny?

"You're going to have to catch me first, super-SEAL!"

"Danny, that's not…Danny!" Steve managed to get himself upright, and hobbled after his partner, who was making a rapid retreat.

"Man, when I catch you, I am gonna kick your short ass…"

_Fin._

* * *

**Okay, that's it!**

**This story was just supposed to be a two, maybe three-shot...no idea how it got away from me and ended up being 11 CHAPTERS [smiles sheepishly]**

**Anyway, I hope you guys liked it! Thank you all again for your lovely, lovely reviews and all your support; I very grateful and very lucky :D**

**Until next time ;)**

**Note: Yocon is used in the treatment of ED, not PTSD...hence why Danny got so giggly towards the end.**


	12. AN: Sequel?

**Okay, I've had a few requests for a sequel, but I wanted to take a poll first...**

**anyone interested? (also, if you are, would you prefer that make it mcdanno or just keep it platonic romance idk guys i can do either it's your choice)**

**just lemme know or something, I check messages/reviews pretty frequently**


	13. AN: okay, sequel

**Okay, so it looks like I'm gonna have to start cranking out that sequel :)**

**for those of you who were worried, though, it will ****_not_**** be a mcdanno story (it was a 3 to 1 vote, don't look at me)**

**it should be posted within the next day or so**

**thank you all for sticking with me through this entire story! :D**


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